


what cannot be said (will be wept)

by TheWriter2



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, De-Aged Spock (Star Trek), Gen, Kid Fic, Nightmares, Non graphic depictions of violence, Pre-Relationship, Tarsus IV, although you don't have to read it that way if you don't want to, mentions of past bullying, set about a year after the 09 movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriter2/pseuds/TheWriter2
Summary: A few moments pass before Spock speaks again. “What do you dream about?”Jim isn’t sure what is about this younger version of Spock, but somehow he understands him better than he ever did his First Officer.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 9
Kudos: 169





	what cannot be said (will be wept)

**Author's Note:**

> title from a poem by Sappho
> 
> work inspired by tumblr user sidespirk

_Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 64382.9_

_I’ve been in command of the_ Enterprise _for nearly a year now. The ship and her crew are wonderful. I couldn’t ask for anything._

_Well, almost anything, I suppose._

_First Officer Spock and I seem to have been at odds since I first undertook my captaincy. He questions and debates all of my decisions. And while it is sometimes helpful, I can’t help but feel like he's disappointed in me all the time. Like he expected more of me and now he feels like he has to pick up the slack._

_And his critiques go beyond the bridge and ship’s business! If I’m in the gym, he’s pointing out some flaw in my form. If I’m in the mess with Bones, he’s giving me underhanded comments about my meal. If I’m in the rec room, he’s there--watching me with this Look that I know can't mean anything good._

_I know it probably doesn’t help that I react so . . . strongly at times. Bones says Spock pushes my buttons so I--“like a little boy with a crush”--have to push his back. I couldn’t explain why I’m having such a hard time making things work out with Spock, but I don’t like it. I want us to be . . . if not friends then at least civil. I don’t like fighting with him, contrary to what Bones and Sulu say. It’s just . . . I don’t think I_ get _him. Not that Spock makes it easy for anyone to understand him. But I think we might along better if he’d just open up to me about_ something _. Like I’m not expecting anything big, but just something would be nice. Would be nice to know I’m not the only one_ trying _to mend whatever it is between us._

* * *

“Captain.”

Jim halts on his way to the turbolift and closes his eyes with the sound of that voice. He turns, a tense smile pasted on his lips. “Yes, Mr. Spock?” he asks, one foot in the lift. 

Spock stands before him, his arms held behind his back in his usual parade rest. “Captain,” he repeats, “perhaps it would be pertinent if I accompanied the away team to the planet’s surface.”

Jim furrowed his eyebrows. “But _I’m_ accompanying the away team. And regulation states that the captain and first officer should limit their time off the ship together, and last _I_ checked, you were a stickler for regulations.”

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Which is why I am suggesting that you remain here, Captain, on the _Enterprise_.”

“Excuse me?” Jim asks, taken aback. “And why should I, Mr. Spock?”

Their exchange has drawn the attention of much of the bridge. Spock takes half a step forward, close enough that Jim can begin to feel his body heat. “Because this is a routine drop-off of supplies,” Spock says, his voice low and-- _focus Jim_. “The activity hardly requires your observation.” Jim raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth the retort when Spock interrupts him. “And you have fallen behind on your paperwork, Sir. It would be beneficial for the whole ship if you remained here to complete it.”

“He has a point, Captain,” Sulu interjects as he bites back a grin. 

Jim looks around the bridge, taking in the sympathetic and amused faces of his crew. He sighs and gently steps around Spock. “Fine, fine. You win, Mr. Spock,” he says, dragging his feet as he gets closer to his chair. “Have fun with the away team.”

Spock squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “I will do no such thing, Sir.” Then he turns on his heel and the turbolift’s doors _swish_ shut behind him. 

A few snickers break out across the bridge. Jim whips his head around, struggling to keep a straight face. “Alright, very funny,” he says, a tinge of disappointment dampening his mood. “Let’s get back to work everyone.”

The crew return to their stations, grins still lighting up their faces. But Jim leans back in his chair and buries down a sigh. 

What did he have to do to get Spock to _trust_ him?

* * *

“We extend our gratitude to the Federation once again, Commander Spock,” Senator Limen says, grinning as the supplies from the _Enterprise_ are beamed down.

Spock makes a note of the last crate of supplies on his PADD before he turns and inclines his head to the Senator. “It is logical that we should extend our assistance to a valued member of our community,” he says. 

The senator beams at him as zie waves over an aid. “As a token of our gratitude, we present you with a gift, Commander,” zie says, taking a chest from zir aid. As zie opens the chest, the senator explains, “It is a stone that is highly valued by our people. It is said to lighten the burden of loneliness.”

Spock picks up the stone and examines it. “Loneliness?” he asks, turning the stone around in his hands. 

The senator nods. “Yes! Loneliness.”

“Fascinating,” Spock says quietly. He turns back to Senator Limen and offers the _ta’al_. “I thank you for your gift, Senator.”

“May it serve you well, Commander,” the senator replies with a bright smile. A crash comes from behind them and the senator surges forward, commands and complaints rapidly falling from zirs lips as zie directs zirs aids around. 

Spock watches for a moment before turning to his crew. “To the beam-up point,” he says, the redshirts falling into line quickly. “Spock to _Enterprise,”_ he says into his comm, “requesting a beam-up of the landing party.”

“ _Enterprise_ , here,” come Scotty’s response. “Stand by to beam-up.” 

After a few seconds, the familiar tingle of the transporter overtakes Spock’s sense. He relaxes as his atoms are collected by the transporter. Mid-way through the process, Spock feels something different occur. He can feel heat coming from one of his pockets, but before he can begin to hypothesize what the cause could be, his visions goes black.

* * *

Jim finishes his last form when the boatswain sings. Signing the form with a triumphant flourish, he leans back in the captain’s seat and presses the comm. “Kirk here,” he says as he stretches. 

“Captain.” It’s Scotty. Jim sits up and leans closer to the comm at the sounds of hesitation in Scotty’s voice. “Captain, ye better come to the transporter room. There’s something ye ought t’ see.”

Anxiety churns in Jim’s stomach. “Is it the away team? Is everyone alright?”

“Everyone is . . . unharmed, but I think ye need to see this,” Scotty answers enigmatically. 

Jim rubs his temples. “Alright, I’ll be there shortly, Scotty.” He gives the bridge to Sulu and makes his way to the transporter room, his mind quickly thumbing through various worst-case scenarios as to what sort of situation would warrant Scotty--who is generally very cool and calm under pressure--calling him from the bridge.

He cracks his knuckles. 

He hopes nothing has happened to Spock. 

Or anyone else on the away team. 

Scotty meets him at the doors of the transporter room, his mouth running a mile-a-minute as he tries to catch Jim up on the situation. “I’ve already done a diagnostic on the transporter and gone over the logs from the beam up and there’s nothing wrong with the transporter itself. According to our systems, everything should have gone perfectly, but . . .” he trails off as Jim steps into the transporter room. 

At first, Jim can’t find anything wrong with the situation. The members of the away team all seem alright--no one has been turned into goo or any other horrifying substance that Bones would use as an excuse to avoid the transporter for the foreseeable future. 

Then he realizes Spock isn’t among the red shirts that are nervously shifting around the transporter room. Jim turns to Scotty, the question loud on his face. Scotty grimaces and points to the transporter pad. Jim follows Scotty’s gaze and his heart nearly stops. 

In the place of Spock’s usual beam-up spot is a small, wide-eyed Vulcan child.

The blue science uniform hangs off the child’s shoulders like curtains. The small frame engulfed by clothes many sizes too large coupled with the tense, frightened air about the child squeezes at Jim’s heart, bidding forth memories and images he would rather leave behind. 

“Did he beam up like this?” Jim asks without taking his eyes off the child. 

“Aye,” Scotty answers quietly. 

Jim nods to himself. “Call Bones for me, will you? And tell him to be gentle when he comes in.” Scotty nods and rushes off to the comm. Jim turns quickly to the remainder of the away team. “I will need you to submit a mission report by the end of ship’s day,” he says, the red shirts snapping to attention. “Make sure to note anything that may have occurred down there that seemed out of the ordinary. Even if you aren’t sure if it was weird or not, please include it. I’d like to know as much as I can.” He’s met with synchronized nods, and he dismisses the team.

He returns his attention to the Vulcan child--to _Spock_. The boy’s eyes are still wide, but he’s turned his attention to observing the transportation room and its various buzzing lights. 

“Spock,” Jim says softly. Spock jolts, his eyes widening to an almost comical size. Jim can tell the boy is tense and crouches down, still several feet away. “Spock, what do you remember?”

Spock hesitates, his feet shuffling back. “How do you know my name?” he asks, his high-pitched and timid voice a shocking difference from the deep, confident cadence Jim is used to. 

Jim considers what he should say for a moment before offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m, uh, a friend,” he says. “My name is Jim Kirk.” Spock looks him over, still unsure and wary. “You can trust me, I promise. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

Jim watches carefully as Spock crouches down and sits on the floor, hugging his knees to himself. “Where am I?” he asks quietly.

“You’re on a Federation ship, the _U.S.S. Enterprise,_ ” Jim answers gently. 

Spock gapes. “Why am I here? Why am I not on Vulcan?” he asks, a slight, nearly undetectable shake in his voice.

Jim sits down and crosses his legs. “You actually work here, Spock,” he says, letting the words sink in. “You’re my First Officer and something went wrong with the transporter and now you’re . . . how old are you?” Jim asks when he realizes that he doesn’t even know how old Spock it now. 

Spock hugs his knees to his chest. “I am 5.36 Terran years old,” he answers quietly. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Jim asks gently, sensing that Spock was--part of him was shocked when he realized that Spock was _scared._

“I was conducting my post-dinner meditation, and then I was here,” Spock answers softly. 

Jim nods silently, wondering what could have happened to his First Officer to not only turn his physical body into that of his five year old self, but to also revert his mind to that of when he was a boy. 

It is during this quiet interlude that all hell breaks loose. As though sensing when the most inopportune time to barge in, the doors to the transporter room _shoot_ open, revealing one ruffled Leonard H. McCoy. 

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now that you had to interrupt a yearly physical that I spent nearly a week chasing down a lieutenant for?” Bones asks, stomping up to Scotty. 

Scotty, obviously listening to his instincts yelling at him to stay far away from Bones’s firing path, wordlessly points to the transporter pad and the small frame of a five year old Spock. 

Jim finally catches up to the arrival of his best friend and starts to rise, raising his hands in front of him. “Bones, before you say anything, can I just--”

But it is too late.

“Goddammit, Jim!” Bones explodes. “How many times have I told you that these blasted transporters are nothing but a death trap waiting to happen!” 

Jim lowers his arms and admits defeat. 

“How many times have I told you that one day these devils are going to turn someone into goo?” Bones continues, his rising blood pressure becoming visible on his face. “And all those times you and Spock asked me for ‘proof’? Well here it is! There is _nothing_ you can do now to make my God-fearing ass even _look_ at a transporter pad until Scotty runs every test he knows of on these blasphemous machines!”

“Does this man realize that Federation-class transporters have been proven safe for humanoid use 1,832 times?”

Jim turns to see a familiar sight--Spock, stood with his back straight and shoulders squared, staring down Bones with just the lightest touch of confusion and self-importance coloring his face. Jim can hear Bones sputter and struggles to stifle a smile. It was good to know that some things never changed. 

Bones grumbles. “Incredible. Even when he’s been turned into an encyclopedia’s first draft, the overgrown cactus still has no respect for human common sense.” Jim catches Spock frown. Bones pinches his nose and gestures to Spock. “Come on, bean sprout, let’s get you checked out in sickbay.”

Spock doesn’t move. He looks at Jim. “This man is a medical practitioner?” The disbelief is obvious in his voice. 

Before Bones can begin another tirade, Jim stands and offers a sympathetic look to Spock. “Despite his horrible bed manner,” Jim says, “Bones is our Chief Medical Officer. He’s been conducting your physicals for the past year.”

If Spock were human, Jim is sure he’d be wrinkling his nose right now.

* * *

Bones grunts as he looks up from the biobed’s readings. “He seems alright,” he mutters. “But its hard to tell with these hog-brained readings, like usual.”

Spock looks up from his folded hands. “You are my primary physician, correct?”

Jim watches, bemused, as Bones crosses his arms. “That’s right.”

Spock cocks his head. “And yet you cannot identify what constitutes as my healthy base readings?” He turns to Jim. “Are you certain he is qualified to serve as Chief Medical Officer, Mr. Kirk?”

Bones sputters. “Now listen here, you pesky little, good-for--”

Jim places a hand on Bones’ arm and gives him a placating look. Bones locks eyes with him for a few moments and Jim is sure that his friend is going to rip Spock a new one once he’s back to normal. But for now, Bones just sighs and hands Spock a pair of medical slacks that will fit him better than the adult’s uniforms currently dwarfing him. “Just take this, kid,” Bones grumbles before he returns to his office. 

Jim offers Spock a small smile before pulling the privacy curtain closed around his biobed. “What will be done with my uniform?” Spock asks quietly.

“Your uniform?” Jim asks. “Scotty, our engineer, is going to check it for any abnormalities that might have affected your transportation.”

Spock goes quiet. Unsure what to say, Jim allows the silence to stretch out between them. Jim smiles and nods at the passing nurses, figiditing quietly. He wonders, after a few moments, if he should check on Spock. His thoughts are interrupted when a small hand pulls the privacy curtain aside. Spock stands there, so small in Jim’s eyes, and offers Jim the uniform that had seemed to weigh heavily from his shoulders. 

Jim takes the clothes gently. He quickly hands them to a passing yeoman and instructs him to take them to Scotty. He turns back to Spock and bites his lip. It had been years since he’d last taken care of a child and that hadn’t been under the best of circumstances in the first place. 

Jim crouches down to Spock’s height. “Is there anything you would like?” he asks gently. 

Spock turns to look at him, the movement mechanical and seemingly practiced. Jim holds his gaze as Spock deliberates the question. When Spock opens his mouth to answer, he is interrupted by a surprisingly fierce grumble from his belly. Spock looks down, startled. Jim lets a crooked smile crack open on his face. “Why don’t we get you something to eat?” he asks. 

Spock nodded. “A logical course of action.” 

Jim allows a small chuckle past his lips as he leads Spock out of sickbay. He keeps Spock in the corner of his eye as they head for Jim’s quarters. Despite being so young, Spock commands the halls of the _Enterprise_. He walks with his shoulders pushed back and his chin raised, seeming to look down on the ensigns and yeomans despite being barely four feet tall. 

But Jim catches something in Spock’s demeanor. Something achingly familiar to the kid Jim was before Pike picked him up in Riverside. He clenches his fists. A five year old shouldn’t radiate that kind of loneliness. 

Jim stops at the door to his quarters and throws a smile Spock’s way as he opens the door. Spock follows him inside and stands in the middle of the room, looking for all the world as though he were lost and completely alone. 

“Go ahead and sit down, Spock,” Jim says as he walks up to the replicator. He wonders briefly what Spock would like to eat before he remembers overhearing Nyota chastise Spock for eating Plomeek soup too often. Retrieving the bowl of soup, he places it down in front of Spock. 

“Thank you, Mr. Kirk,” Spock says quietly, dragging his spoon through the thick broth. 

“Please,” Jim says, picking up a PADD to go over some reports, “call me Jim. ‘Mr. Kirk’ makes me sound so old.”

Spock swallows a few spoonfuls of his soup. Jim catches him bite his lips before nodding. “As you wish, Jim.” 

Jim has to close his eyes to push down the memories brought to the forefront of his mind by that timid voice saying his name. When he opens his eyes, something loosens in his chest at the sight of Spock tucking in bite after bite of his soup. Jim returns to his reports and allows Spock to eat in peace.

* * *

_Ji_ _m watches, clutching Sam’s hand in his own, as the door to their farmhouse swings shut behind their mother. It is only Sam’s tight grasp on his hand that keeps Jim from crying._

_“Go ahead go. Runaway! You think I give a damn?”_

_Jim’s voice is hoarse as he runs after them. “Where are you going?”_

_“As far as I can get.”_

_“Which won’t be far enough!”_

_Jim can’t help but follow, a lump quickly growing in his throat._

_“What do you_ want, _Jimmy?”_

_Jim stops in his tracks. “I just don’t want my brother to go.”_

_“Well what you want doesn’t matter. You’re_ no one.”

_The cold bites at Jim’s arms. He curled up into himself as the wind howled and shadows danced beyond the trees._

_“JT?” the small voice asks. “I’m hungry.”_

_Jim pulls the child closer to him. “I know, Kevin,” he whispers, only thirteen and already so tired. “Try to sleep right now. I’ll get you something tomorrow.”_

_Phasers sing a staccato beat into the night. Jim and his kids huddle together in the cellar, clutching each other tightly._

_“Jim.” It’s Tom. “Jim, what are we going to do?”_

_Jim refuses to let the tears fall as he lays little Nora into the hole. He holds Kevin tightly, feeling the boy’s sharp shoulder blades against his arm._

I’m sorry, _he thinks._ I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.

* * *

Jim gasps as he opens his eyes, the apology a distant ghost on his lips. He drags a shaking hand over his face as he sits up. Checking the chronometer through his cracked fingers, Jim struggles not to throw his pillow across his quarters. 

It was only 1 a.m. ship’s time. 

Jim swings his legs off the bed, staring down at the floor as phantom images flitter across his vision. Weakly, he stands, shedding his sweat ridden sleep shirt. He throws it in the clothes hamper and retrieves a new one on his way to the bathroom. 

Jim leans against the sink, taking in his pale, tired face. Sighing, he turns on the faucet and splashes water on his face as though he could wash away his bad dreams. He manages to choke down a glass of water despite his throat feeling like sandpaper. 

Slipping on his new shirt, Jim slides down until he is leaning against the cool bathroom wall. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. He listens closely to the gentle hum and rumble of his lady’s engines, letting the steady sounds ground him once more. 

Then he hears something foreign to his lady’s quiet nights--a voice calling out into the night. Jim opens his eyes and listens carefully. 

The voice comes again, small and tainted with that familiar fear. 

“Stop . . . I’m sorry . . . Please assist me!”

Something cold grips at Jim’s heart. He’s standing and opening the door connecting the bathroom to Spock’s quarters before he’s even sure what he’s doing. He stumbles into Spock’s room, quickly surveying the room before making his way to Spock’s bedside. Somehow, Spock’s looks even smaller tangled up in the sheets of his bed. Jim gently sits down on the edge of the bed and considers if he should allow the nightmare to run its course and comfort Spock if he wakes. 

“Please,” Spock whispers, “desist . . . I will try harder . . . Father, I apologize . . .” 

Spock quiets and Jim wonders if the nightmare has passed. Then he notices something glinting in the low light--there are tears streaking down Spock’s cheeks. 

“Mother!” Spock cries out, startling Jim. “Mother, help me!”

Jim decides that he cannot allow this to continue any further. As easily as slipping into a pool in July, Jim settles into the routine he used when he kids had nightmares on those cold nights on Tarsus. 

Gently, Jim combs a hand through Spock’s hair. With the other, he gently shakes Spock’s shoulder. “Spock,” he whispers, “wake up, buddy.” 

Spock mumbles something and leans into Jim’s hands, but they crying doesn’t cease. Jim continues combing Spock’s hair and brings his other hand to the boy’s temple. “Spock,” he says, “wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Slowly, Spock blinks his eyes open. Eyelids still heavy, Spock pushes himself up until he’s sitting. He rubs at his cheeks, seemingly confused for a moment by the tears he found there. Jim continues to rub the nap of Spock’s neck as he wakes up fully. 

“Thank you for waking me, Mother,” Spock says softly. “I hope I did not disturb Father.”

Jim nearly chokes, his hand frozen between the soft hairs on the back of Spock’s neck. “Spock,” he says gently, “you’re still on the _Enterprise.”_

Jim doesn’t need to be a telepath to feel the mortification coursing through Spock’s mind. Spock rubs vigorously at his eyes, turning away from Jim. “I apologize for waking you, Mr. Kirk.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jim says quickly. “We all get nightmares.” 

“Not Vulcans,” Spock says quietly, pulling his knees to his chin. 

Jim stares down at his hands and picks at a hangnail. “Humans do,” he says softly. “That’s why I was up.” 

He catches Spock staring at him with wide eyes and swallows thickly. Hold the boy’s gaze, Jim admits, “I had a nightmare tonight, too. So don’t feel bad about waking me up ‘cause you didn’t, okay?”

“You have nightmares?” Spock asks, his voice almost disbelieving. 

Jim nods and stares at his hands again, trying to dispel the phantoms from his dreams. 

A few moments pass before Spock speaks again. “What do you dream about?”

Jim’s breath catches in his throat. He chews his lip as he considers what he could say that would satisfy that Vulcan curiosity his First was known for. He scratches at the inside of his wrist as the silence and darkness seem to suffocate him. 

“I—“ the words catch in Jim’s throat. It was so long ago and he cursed the memory and that it still held such power over him. “When I was a kid,” he starts again, “my uncle sent me to an Earth colony. While I was there, the colony experienced a . . .” When he hesitates, Spock shifts closer, letting the heat from his shoulder bleed into Jim’s. Heat. Jim lets out a shuttering breath. There was heat here like there had never been on Tarsus.

“There was a famine,” he spits out, the words releasing something in his chest. “There was a famine and I dream about taking care of a bunch of kids and how we starved and how I couldn’t—“

“You dream of the children you could not save?” Spock asks, his soft, quiet voice an anchor in the whirlwind of Jim’s mind. 

Jim nods. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely. 

They sit together, allowing the silence of Spock’s warm room wrap them in some semblance of comfort. Jim listens to the beating of his heart as it slowly reaches a steady pace. Spock fiddles with his shirt next to him. 

“I disappoint my parents.”

The confession is abrupt and Jim’s breath catches in his throat. He looks over at Spock and wonders what it is about him that has earned him Spock’s trust. 

Spock grips his shirt with a knuckle whitening grip. “I know I do. Everyone says I do.” Jim catches the distinct sound of a lump forming in Spock’s throat. 

Jim nudges his shoulder against Spock’s. “Well everyone is wrong, Spock.”

Spock looks up at him, his gaze hard. “How do you know?”

This makes Jim stop. He looks away briefly and fights down that horrid image of Spock appearing on that transporter pad covered in dust and reaching out for someone he’d never see again. “I’m not the best authority on parents,” Jim begins. “I don’t exactly have the best relationship with my mom and I haven’t had the pleasure to meet your parents,” He offers Spock a strained smile. “but I can’t imagine a world in which you weren’t loved by your parents.”

Spock frowns and mumbles, “My peers would beg to differ.”

“Then let them beg!” Jim exclaims, refusing to allow Spock to think this way anymore tonight. “Their words do not define you, Spock! Because guess what? The only constant for the rest of your life is you and you do not deserve to spend the rest of it believing some bullshit that a bunch of snot faced kids tell you!” 

Spock blinks at him, his mouth slightly agape.

Jim clears his throat and settles down. “What I’m trying to say is,” he begins again, “only you can define what you are in this universe, Spock. _You_ get to decide what you are and what your worth is, no one else. Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent, so don’t give it to them.”

Spock looks away, a serious look clouding his face. Jim worries for a moment that he’d said something wrong, something that will make Spock even colder to him than he was before this whole fiasco started. 

Then Spock looks up at him, determination chiseled into his eyes. “You have given me much to think of, Mr—Jim, but I find merit in it. Thank you.”

Jim feels like his relief and happiness might burst out of him when he smiles. He pulls Spock into his side and ruffles his hair with a chuckle. Spock struggles against him, but there is something in the way he weakly pushes against Jim’s arms that tells him Spock appreciates — if not enjoys — the contact. He almost giggles as he says, “Please, Jim, this is unseemly.”

Jim laughs again as he lets Spock go. They smile at each other for a moment, or Jim does and Spock gives him this Look where his eyes are soft and while his lips don’t move they give the distinct impression of forming a smile. Jim brushes Spock’s hair from his face and says, “Is there anything you need to be able to go back to sleep?”

Spock ponders the question for a moment before shaking his head. “Thank you, but I shall have no trouble returning to sleep after a brief meditation.” Jim nods and is about to get up when Spock catches him by the wrist. Spock stares him in the eye as he asks softly, “Is there anything _you_ need, Jim?”

For a moment, Jim freezes. It had been quite a long time since someone asked _him_ what he needed (Bones had a habit of _telling_ Jim what he needed rather than asking). For a moment, tears prickle against the back of Jim’s eyes as he swallows thickly. “No, Spock,” he says breathlessly, “I don’t need anything. But thank you.”

Spock nods and let’s him go, seeming to miss the whirlwind of emotions that had passed through Jim’s mind. Jim stands and helps Spock pull up the covers as he gets in bed. Jim brushes Spock’s hair one last time, just because he can and because it is so much softer than he had imagined. He smiles gently. “Good night, Spock.”

Spock wrests against his pillow, still looking small but also strong. “Good night, Jim.”

* * *

Jim wakes up to the chirp of his communicator the next morning. He rolls over in his bed and fumbles to press the right button.

“Captain,” it’s Lieutenant Lillith from Gamma Shift, “I have a message for you from Commander Scott.”

Jim rubs sleep from his eyes. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“He reports that he may have figured out what caused Commander Spock’s transformation and requests that you and Commander Spock meet him in the transporter room at your earliest convenience,” she says, only the slightest hints of fatigue coloring her voice. 

Jim smiles and swings his feet out of bed. “That is very good news, Lieutenant. Please let Mr. Scott know I will be at the transporter room within the hour. Kirk out.”

Jim quickly prepares for the day, going through his morning routine at breakneck speed. Once he has finished, he steps into his shared bathroom and knocks on Spock’s door. When he hears the quiet, “Come in,” he steps through the doorway, bright smile on his face as he watches Spock rise from his meditation position. 

“Mr. Scott thinks he’s figured out what went wrong with the transport!” Jim exclaims, feeling the same childhood giddiness that still painted some of his earliest memories. “He’s waiting for us in the transporter room now.”

Spock gives him that almost-but-not-quite smile again as he folds up his meditation mat. “My compliments to your crew.”

Something twists in Jim’s chest. “They’re your crew, too.”

Spock looks at him for a moment, a complex series of emotions barely visible behind his eyes. Before Jim can ask what’s wrong Spock shakes his head minutely. “Shall we then, Jim?”

For a moment, their actions seem eerily familiar to Jim. Like a dream he had forgotten. He grasps for the memory but it remains frustratingly out of reach. Spock cocks his head at him and the movement jerks Jim out of his own head. He nods and the pair head down the winding hallways of the _Enterprise_. 

Scotty is waiting for them in the transporter room, holding a bundle that looks suspiciously like Spock’s uniform. His face brightens when Jim and Spock enter the room. “Good morning, lads,” he greets them, already bouncing a bit in his excitement. “I’m delighted to say that I have found the answers to ye problem.”

Jim grins. “Very nicely done, Scotty.”

“Thank ye, Capt’n,” Scotty replies. He sets down the bundle on the transporter board and picks up a small stone. “This, dear lads, is the only difference I could find between the landing party. This wee stone was in Mr. Spock’s pocket, and I like to think it reacted with the transporter and turned our Commander into this wee lad we have here.”

Jim nods. “Seems like a logical assumption.” He shares a grin with Spock. He returns his attention to Scotty. “So what do you propose we do to solve the problem, Mr. Scott?”

Scotty grins. “I believe the solution is quite simple. We just need to send Mr. Spock through the transporter with the stone, Capt’n.”

Jim turns to face Spock head on. “What do you think, Spock?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning.”

A smile tugs at Jim’s lips. “Well, you’re the one going through the transporter. Does this all sound alright to you?”

Spock glances at the transporter, his teeth tugging at his lip for a moment. He turns back to Jim suddenly, familiar determination shining in his eyes. “Let us continue, Jim.”

Jim watches as Spock takes the stone from Scotty and steps onto the transporter pad. Something tightens in his belly. It is fear, he realizes. Fear that Spock might not make it out alright. Fear that Spock won’t remember the time they spent understanding each other. Or worse, fear that Spock _will_ remember and hate Jim for seeing him in such a vulnerable state. 

But most of all, it’s fear that Jim will be alone again. 

Sure, he has Bones, but there was something in the way Bones looked at him--that doctor look that reminded Jim that his friend was probably mentally writing him eight prescriptions and scheduling twenty counseling appointments. Bones was his closest friend but Jim felt like he could never _just_ be Bones’ friend.

It had been different with Spock. When Jim had spoken with Spock last night he felt _seen_. Like things had finally fallen into their rightful place. 

And he is scared he might lose that. 

Spock stands on the transporter pad, chin raised and jaw set in a mask of confidence. He looks at Jim and his face shifts into something that reminded Jim of a smile. 

“Thank you for all you have done for me, Jim,” Spock says, his words tugging at something in Jim’s chest. “It may sound illogical since I will return here momentarily, but I will miss you.”

Jim gave him a wobbly smile. “I’ll miss you, too, Spock.”

Spock bows his head and turns his head to Scotty. “Please proceed, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty grins. “Aye, sir.” 

The hum of the transporter fills the silence of the room and before Jim can blink the small Spock disappears and is quickly replaced by the familiar looming figure of his First Officer. 

The lights of the transporter fade and Spock blinks as he takes in the room. He looks around him, a frown just barely tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Captain,” he begins, “may I inquire as to the whereabouts of the rest of the away team?”

Jim’s heart drops straight through the decks of the _Enterprise_ as he realizes that Spock . . . Spock doesn’t remember. He gets lost in his thoughts as Scotty catches Spock up on what happened. 

Jim wonders what this will mean for them. They were back at square one where Spock hated him and Jim couldn’t figure out how to be his friend without overstepping and-- 

“--ptain.” 

Spock’s hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Spock is watching him carefully, that gaze that used to be so enigmatic beginning to unravel before him. “Captain, are you alright?” Spock asks. 

Jim forces a smile to crack his face. “Yes, Mr. Spock!” he says. “I’m just so relieved to have you back with us.”

Spock pulls his hand back and returns them to their customary place behind his back. “I, too, am gratified to have been returned to my proper state.” 

Jim studies him for a moment, as if he thought he could find that bright eyed child in Spock’s face. He flashes a tense smile and claps Spock on the shoulder. “Like I said, good to have you back,” he says as he turns to leave. “Just check in with Bones and I’ll see you on the bridge.”

He leaves before Spock has a chance to say anything.

* * *

_Jim feels his heart turn to ice when he realizes Spock has joined the suffering cast of his nightmares._

_He watches helplessly as his kids are shot down around him, his arms pinned back by the governor’s guards. He chokes on his tears as the last of his kids falls. He locks eyes with Spock and he flickers between his First Officer and the kid Jim helped out of his own nightmares. Regardless of which version of the Vulcan stands before him, sorrow and betrayal shine bright in Spock’s eyes._

_“Why, Jim?” Spock says as a guard holds a blaster to the back of his head. “Why didn’t you do something?”_

_The sound of the blaster is drowned out by Jim’s screams._

Jim is still screaming when he wakes up to Spock shaking his shoulders. Spock’s eyes are uncharacteristically large as Jim takes in his disheveled sleeping robes. Jim sucks in a shuddering breath as he sits up. He rubs at his forehead, avoiding Spock’s worried gaze. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

Jim stares at his hands where they are fisted in the bed sheets as Spock engulfs them in a thick silence. 

“Jim,” Spock finally says. Jim nearly flinches despite the gentle tone Spock uses. “Jim, what do you need?”

For a moment, Jim is sitting in Spock’s quarters, the Vulcan heat grounding him. He shakes the memory away and struggles not to curl into himself. 

“I’m fine, Spock,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Jim screws his eyes shut as though he could block his own memories from his recollection. The silence stretches on for so long that Jim thinks (hopes) Spock listened to him for once and returned to his own quarters. Then the bed shifts and strong, warm arms wrap around Jim’s shoulders. 

“The famine,” Spock says barely above a whisper. “You dream of Tarsus, don’t you Jim?”

Jim gasps as his eyes shoot open but he lacks the strength to push away from Spock’s chest to look his First Officer in the eye. “You remember?” he says into Spock’s shoulder. 

Spock nods, his arms tightening minutely around Jim’s shoulders. “The memories returned to me throughout the day,” he says, “but I could not find the time to speak with you.” A warm hand rises to cradle the back of his head. “Now tell me what you need, Jim.”

Tears burn at the corners of Jim’s eyes. He buries his face in Spock’s neck. “Just this,” he says through the thickness in his throat. “Just this.”

A different, more comforting silence wraps around them as Spock rubs circles into Jim’s back. 

Jim isn’t sure how much time has passed, but the icy panic has subsided and his eyes are growing heavy as he struggles not to sink into Spock’s warmth. His defenses lowered, something in him allows Jim to say, “I was so afraid you’d go back to hating me.”

Spock’s hands freeze on Jim’s back. He gently pushes Jim away from his chest so their eyes can meet. Spock’s eyes search for something on Jim’s face. “You believed I hated you?”

Jim nods tiredly. “I thought you hated me for not being . . . better.”

Spock shakes his head. “I never hated you, Jim.” He says it so simply, the same way he reads out the data from his scanners on the bridge, and Jim can’t help but believe him. 

Spock’s hand comes up to cup Jim’s cheek. “I apologize for making you think such a thing,” he says. “Any distance you perceived between us was due to my lack of knowledge as to how to approach being your friend, especially after the circumstances that lead to our acquaintanceship.”

It was Jim’s turn for his eyes to go wide. “You want to be my friend?”

Spock seems to hesitate for a moment. He dips his hand into the folds of his rob and pulls out a stone. In the dark it takes Jim a moment to recognize the stone that started this whole circus show in the first place. He meets Spock's eyes, waiting for the explanation that is sure to come. 

"The senator gifted this to me as a thanks for delivering the supplies," Spock says softly. He turns the stone over in his hands, his fingertips paling as a sign of his nervousness. Slowly, Jim squeezes Spock's thigh. Spock takes a breath and continues. "The senator stated that the stone was rumored to 'lighten the burden of loneliness.'

"At first," Spock continues, straightening his back, "I was merely intrigued by the history that may have lead to such a belief. But after recent events I am inclined the believe that the stone truly does hold some power to alleviate loneliness."

Jim's mouth is dry. "You were lonely?"

The air feels charged between them as Spock stares into his eyes. "As you have been made aware, I have never had the luxury of conversing with my peers as easily as you, Jim," he says softly. "Even now, aboard this ship with her crew, I can only find my place through necessity." Jim swallows thickly. "Though I take comfort in being needed, I will admit that there has been something--missing from my life."

"Companionship," Jim offers, trying to ignore the impulse that screams at him to fold Spock up in his arms and just protect him. 

Spock nods, letting a quiet silence wrap around them. 

Jim picks at his sheets before blurting out, "Well I'm yours if you'll have me, Spock."

Spock blinks up at him, face still so perfectly blank but Jim can tell he's surprised. "Jim?" he says, not quite voicing the question that Jim hears in his heart. 

A smile quivers on Jim's lips. "I'll admit it won't be easy and I won't say we'll always get along, but," he scoots just a little closer to Spock, "I want to be your friend, Spock." He looks down and pulls at his fingers. "I know it might not seem like it, but that stone helped me, too."

For a moment, Jim can't breathe. Spock allows the silence to stretch out between them until Jim has to count his heartbeats to the whir and groan of the engines. 

"Jim," Spock finally says. Jim looks up and something flutters in his chest at the sight of the _happiness_ that is so clear on Spock's face. "Jim, I would like nothing better than to be your friend."

Jim smiles and pulls Spock into another hug. When they part, Jim smiles at him fondly. He glances at his chronometer and realizes it was nearly 04:30 in the morning. 

“You should return to sleep, Jim,” Spock says, noticing the time as well. 

Jim grins. “I think I’m up for the day, Mr. Spock.” He glances at something on his desk briefly. “What about you? Any plans on returning to sleep?”

Spock straightens as he watches Jim warily. “No, sir.”

Somehow Jim’s grin widens. “Then may I tempt you to a game of chess before alpha shift starts?”

Spock follows Jim’s hand to where he is pointing at his chess board. He turns back to Jim, a smile teasing the edges of his eyes. “I would be honored, Jim.”


End file.
